


imitates art

by bog gremlin (tomatocages)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Actor Keith (Voltron), Actor Shiro (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Femslash, First Meetings, Genderswap, Mentions of Shiro's family - Freeform, femsheith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26618221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatocages/pseuds/bog%20gremlin
Summary: Shiro, a disabled actor in her first starring role, meets the love of her life on set.Written for the 2020 FemSheith Exchange
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 55
Collections: Femsheith Exchange 2020





	imitates art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverSilence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSilence/gifts).



> For [@silversil_arts](https://twitter.com/silversil_arts), who asked for: “an actor AU where sheith are co-stars. Bonus points if they are love interests in the show they are acting for.” 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life".

\- Oscar Wilde, [_The Decay of Lying_](http://virgil.org/dswo/courses/novel/wilde-lying.pdf)

* * *

Shiro meets her co-star by accident. The show they’re working on is one of those dual-narrative timelines that has them working in opposite ends of the studio, and according to the scripts, they won’t appear in the same scene until the midseason finale — providing the show doesn’t get cancelled before then. 

The accident in question: the runner on duty at five in the morning has given Shiro a Sundollar coffee cup with “Keats” scrawled on it in a hurried, messy scrawl. It’s a nitro cold brew with almond milk foam, and Shiro is honestly amazed by its existence, since it’s the middle of October. Not what Shiro would consider cold brew weather. 

Still, she’s a good Samaritan. Allura finished applying Shiro’s makeup early today, which means Shiro has time to walk down the row of trailers and find someone on set who is named Keats and does not fear unseasonable caffeinated beverages. If she’s lucky, Shiro will also reclaim her medium “diet syrup” pumpkin latte with coconut milk. (Anything to avoid the hassle of re-ordering. She’s absolutely  _ done _ with everyone who points out that using coconut milk instead of skim means the drink is no longer part of the low-calorie menu. She  _ knows _ . Shiro is lactose intolerant. The regular pumpkin syrup at Sundollar has powdered milk in it.)

And so, dressed in motorcycle leathers and sporting both an impeccable cat-eye  _ and _ a fake bruise the size of a lemon on her cheek, Shiro comes face to face with the love of her life. 

At least, that’s what the script will say, four weeks from now when the mid-season finale gets greenlit. At the moment, all Shiro knows is that the person who turns and says, “It’s Keith, actually,” is wearing unflattering jeans and is half-in, half-out of a sleeveless undershirt so Pidge can finish gluing a fake gash on her flank with spirit gum. 

Keith, despite her state of undress and the amount of work Pidge has put into making her look like three miles of bad road, is prettier than Shiro expected from looking over her publicity headshots. That sounds catty, but it’s not meant to be; Keith’s headshots are pretty terrible. They look like she took them herself with a smartphone and a timer — and not a  _ nice _ smartphone, either. While she communes with her cold brew (the foam appears to have dissolved), Shiro looks about hopefully for a conversational opening.

“Did a diet pumpkin coconut latte end up in this trailer, by any chance?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Pidge answers. “Keith, where are your manners?”

“I’m method this morning,” Keith says. Later, Shiro will be relieved to learn that Keith is disdainful of method acting, because most people use it as an opportunity to be a jerk. “This cold brew is really the elixir of life.” She gulps down the rest of her drink and is immediately accosted by Pidge with a napkin, who’s desperate to wipe the corner of her mouth before her artfully-applied lipstick gets smudged. 

“You’re Keith?” Shiro asks. She’s heard stories about Keith, mostly that she’s brilliant and earnest, yet completely uninterested in chitchat on set. Also, she does most of her own stunts. Shiro does her own stunts, too — it’s one of the reasons she was hired for her role. She’s been dying to connect with other actors who have a similar skill set, if only to compare insurance premiums. 

“Ye-es,” Keith says, giving Shiro a look that speaks of caffeine-powered intensity and  _ probably _ an early morning run. “And you are…?”

“I’m Shiro,” Shiro says, promptly forgetting to use her full name.  _ I’m Shiro _ , she’ll think, later.  _ What are you, a pop star with one name? _ “And you know, I think I’ve been looking for you.”

There’s no time for getting to know Keith (and no coffee is forthcoming, either; Shiro would weep, but her eyeliner is too good to waste). Coran is bellowing for Shiro to get on set for the chase scene she’s supposed to film today, and Keith is needed on the opposite sound stage to practice getting beat up by a group of aspiring warlords. 

The show is one of those sci-fi adjacent action series doomed to air right after Monday Night Football, a televised event that rakes in enough money for the network that it must be referred to in capital letters at all times. More often than not, they get bumped when the games go into overtime. Shiro is pretty sure the producers are banking on the midseason finale to get enough dialogue written to stitch the competing explosions in each storyline together. 

All this to say that when they finally  _ do _ hit the midseason finale, Shiro learns that Keith’s character — a scrappy, self-sacrificing loner who’s been trying to locate Shiro, an amnesiac spy — not only  _ knows _ Shiro’s character, but is her character’s childhood sweetheart. 

“This is a lot of exposition,” Keith says when they hit that part of the script. Her character is more laconic than anything else, and the three pages of monologuing she’s been assigned are a shock to just about everyone outside of the writer’s room. “I mean — oh, wow. Is this a flashback?”

“It’s a  _ description _ of a flashback,” Matt, the head writer and unfortunate soul leading the roundtable says. “You’re talking about it, but we aren’t planning to show those scenes until we get renewed for a second season.”

“So much for ‘show, don’t tell,’” Shiro says sympathetically. Her character is usually the one monologuing; it’s part of the whole amnesia plotline, she’s always trying to piece fragments together. Shiro has some feelings about  _ that _ , too — but when you’re a disabled actor playing a disabled character and you get to be badass more often than not, it makes sense to pick your battles. 

“Yeah, it just doesn't make sense,” Keith says. “Wasn’t your character’s arm amputated before her amnesia event? Wouldn’t I know about it already? This monologue is going on about how you’re not less of a person, and it’s kind of gross.”

Hunk, the sensitivity reader on staff, starts shuffling pages. “Matt,” he hisses, “which draft did you give her?! I vetoed that from the beginning!”

“Yeah, the arm’s not a tragic backstory, it’s just backstory,” Shiro says. “I’ve been acting like it was a congenital thing.”

Matt, who is not an asshole, locates the correct script. It’s an improvement: “Only  _ two _ pages of monologuing,” Keith says. “Oh, and a kiss scene. I keep forgetting, what are the ratings like?”

“Lesbians,” Coran says knowingly, “are very hot right now.”

There’s a moment of silence that hangs awkwardly in the room after that proclamation, in recognition of the fact that Coran is their producer and also from a country where this kind of comment is meant strictly in a “community polling” sense, not a porn one. 

“Our focus groups are excited to see a relationship between equals,” he continues. “And the midseason finale is the perfect time to reveal that Alice and Shane have been together all along! Their history is very romantic.”

Shiro is Alice; Keith is Shane. 

The new draft is pretty romantic. No one’s wearing a wedding band on a chain around their neck, but it’s pretty close. Shiro supposes they have to save something for the season finale, assuming the show doesn’t get cancelled before then. 

Since the coffee hand-off, Keith and Shiro have been hanging out in between their scenes. It’s funny, since they still haven’t appeared on screen  _ together _ , but Shiro knows that they have chemistry. They even have  _ good _ chemistry. Keith laughs at Shiro’s collection of dad-jokes (she likes testing them out at work before texting them to the man in question; Shiro’s mom makes a point to film him while he reads them, and Shiro’s greatest joy in life in watching a five-second reaction video of her father guffawing and slapping his knee while clutching his phone to his chest). Keith even makes a pumpkin latte syrup with powdered coconut milk in it, so Shiro can make lattes in the craft services trailer without having to battle the wretched aftertaste of stevia every time she craves a caffeine hit. 

Keith also seems to agree that they have chemistry, at least judging by the way she’s started invading Shiro’s personal space during breaks. Keith is all sharp joints and muscle, and between her lack of body fat and the increasingly torn costumes she has to wear (Shane is really getting put through the wringer; she’s spent two episodes fighting her way out of enemy hands, and that involves losing her shirt and running around set in a sports bra), she’s usually freezing. 

“You’re warm,” she explains when Shiro asks. “I was hoping you were accommodating, too.” 

Shiro’s a middle child; of course she can be accommodating. Keith’s not exaggerating how cold she gets, even with the added benefit of crawling into an oversized fleece sweatshirt in between takes; her hands are like ice. Shiro is  _ so _ accommodating that she takes to tucking Keith’s cold fingers under the hem of her own shirt until they thaw. 

Pretty soon, it’s common knowledge that Keith naps in Shiro’s lap during their downtime — that the two of them are always together during downtime. This physical comfort comes in handy when they finally film their reunion-slash-first-meeting during the much-hyped midseason finale. 

It’s pretty fun, actually. Their reunion comes in the form of an elaborate hand-to-hand combat scene that Kolivan, the choreographer, has orchestrated to showcase all of Shiro’s flexibility and Keith’s unexpected strength. Since both of them do most of their own stunts, it means that they have a non-stop acrobatic exchange where Shiro gets to do handsprings and standing splits, and Keith gets to jump off a (fake) building (landing safely in a ball pit) before leaping into Shiro’s arms and getting held aloft, like they’re pairs figure skaters executing a dangerous lift. 

“Alice, please,” Keith pants. When she’s in character, she looks even more earnest. Despite Shane’s opacity, the critics are in love with the way Keith manages to emote without resorting to tears or increased volume. “It’s Shane — don’t you remember me?”

Heartbreaking stuff. Shiro clutches tighter at Keith’s slim waist and hefts her up against a wall so they can look at each other face to face; it’s the third take, and she finally remembers to cheat in the direction of the cameras so they can film the wild look on her face. “I know you,” she says in return. “But I don’t know how!”

“I’m not your enemy,” Keith croons, and grabs at Shiro’s wrists to get enough leverage to pull herself up and flip over on Shiro’s shoulders. This piggy-back stunt is Shiro’s favorite in the series to date: it looks impossibly hard, but she gives Keith a little push as she goes over so she doesn’t lose momentum, and the satisfying thud of Keith’s knees into Shiro’s obliques is a sign that they’ve nailed it. “Alice, Alice, I kissed you under an apple tree. I kicked James Griffin in the shins when he called you names.”

“You hate apples,” Shiro says. Her tone is a little off from how she normally speaks, as Alice. More importantly, that line’s not in the script. It’s true, though. 

“Maybe so,” Keith stage-whispers in her ear, somehow still in character. “But I love you.”

Shiro loses her breath and almost forgets to grab beneath Keith’s knees for the next stunt, which involves spinning inelegantly into a wall (Kolivan must have run out of ideas; most fight scenes don’t take this long). As soon as Keith makes contact, she loosens her hold on Shiro’s neck and drops her knees, sliding down the wall to duck between Shiro’s thighs and leap back up into her arms. This time, Shiro catches her in an embrace, not a power pose. 

“I remember you,” She says, desperately. Shiro can’t remember her lines. “I  _ remember you. _ ”

Keith lays her cheek carefully against Shiro’s, keeping her (fake) scar turned towards the cameras. “I missed you,” she ad-libs. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Shiro stammers, and wraps her arms around Keith properly. 

“Cut!” Coran yells. 

“I don’t know what that was,” Matt starts.

Hunk cuts him off. “But it’s beautiful!”

“Now kiss!” Pidge yells from where she’s waiting to apply touch-ups to Keith’s wound makeup.

The cameras, despite Coran’s command, are still rolling; Kinkaide knows what he’s about. Shiro keeps her body turned toward them, but she keeps her eyes on Keith.

There’s a subtle shift in Keith’s expression; she’s still acting, but Shiro knows her well enough now that she can see the woman who naps in her lap, too. It’s good enough. 

“Hey,” Shiro whispers. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” Keith says, and kisses her. 

When the episode airs, Coran doesn’t include the ad-libbed footage — but the reshoot uses the same dialogue.

“Not sure about that angle,” Shiro critiques their kiss on-screen. Keith’s in her lap again, and they’re watching from the excellent couch Shiro splurged on when she got her first paycheck. “I think the camera lens Kinkaide used is too much like  _ The Notebook _ .” Shiro’s older brother loves romance movies; Shiro has seen  _ The Notebook _ eight times, because she’s the only person in the family who doesn’t cry so hard they can’t navigate the DVD menu in the aftermath. As a result, she has opinions.

“I don’t think you have a bad angle,” Keith disagrees. “See — pause the DVR — look at your thighs. You look like you’re strong enough to withstand an earthquake. I’ve never seen someone with less of a fall risk in my life.” 

“Oh, well, if I’m at decreased risk of falls,” Shiro says, ticking Keith. “If you’re so concerned about my long term  _ health _ .”

“Shiro-o-o-o!” Keith whines. She eels away from Shiro’s fingers. “It’s a compliment!” 

Prior to acting, Keith was in physical therapy school and spent a lot of time conducting balance training programs in eldercare facilities. Shiro has gotten used to this sort of flattery since they got together, but it’s still delightfully weird. 

“I know,” she says, and shows Keith mercy: she stops ticking and switches to aggressive cuddling. Keith squeaks happily and unpauses the DVR so the episode picks back up right when they emerge from their kiss, which has jogged enough of Alice’s memory that she remembers her relationship with Shane, even if she doesn’t remember why she became a spy in the first place. Hopefully the writers will address this in the second season. 

“Do you think we’ll get renewed?” Shiro asks. 

“Who knows,” Keith says, with the optimism of someone with a career option to fall back on. Along with physical therapy, she’s a reasonably accomplished carpenter; Shiro’s parents are in love with the end table Keith made for their anniversary. Shiro has a bachelor of science degree, a string of entry-level R&D positions, and two-and-a-half applications to grad school that she never submitted after she got her first callbacks. “But the critics love us.”

They really do; Keith and Shiro have been nominated for a handful of awards for their performances of strong, independent women in a relatively healthy relationship (relatively healthy for an action show; the network isn’t  _ that _ progressive). The writing team got a raise right after the series was given the okay to finish the first season, and Shiro knows Matt’s been writing fanfic whenever his ideas get shot down. All signs point to, at the very least, the option of a sophomore slump. 

They finish the episode. When Keith heads home — she lives with her dad on the other side of town, and Shiro is working on honing her terrible jokes to align with his particular tastes, since his reactions are almost as good as her own father’s — she kisses Shiro on the cheek, then, once Shiro gets the message, the mouth.

“You’re too tall,” Keith says against Shiro’s lips. “I miss you when you’re all the way up there.” 

“I miss you when you’re all the way across town,” Shiro says. “Get used to disappointment.” 

“Not too used to it,” Keith says. “I mean, I refuse to wear tall shoes, they’re hell on my spine, but the far-away part.”

Shiro’s mouth feels dry. She’s past ready for bed — they both usually turn in before ten, and it’s already eleven-thirty — but that little suggestion wakes her up.

“I’ll see you at work,” She says, instead of responding. “We have another fight scene in the morning, but afterwards I’ll let you be my ice pack and we can talk.”

When Keith smiles, her entire face softens, and the sharp angles of her cheekbones and little chin transform into the prettiest picture Shiro will ever see. “I’ll bring you a coffee,” she promises, and closes the door behind her. 

The show might not get a second season; but Shiro knows that whatever happens in the script, she and Keith are together for the long haul. Despite being one of the more impatient people she knows— there’s a reason she’s always reciting mantras about the virtue — Shiro can’t wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> I generally use person-first language, but in this fic, Shiro thinks of herself as "disabled" rather than a "person with a disability," mostly because she's had a prosthetic arm for longer than the new language has been in common use. She has zero angst about it; it's just her arm, one that has inspired many a muscle gain.


End file.
